Meditations on Sherlock Holmes by Dr John Watson
by Chocolate2011
Summary: John's blog does not just record their adventures in narrative form, it also includes anecdotes and essays on Sherlock Holmes and 221B Baker Street. Will become a Oneshot serial. 1. Unsolicited Text.


1. Unsolicited Text

There is no such thing as digital privacy with Sherlock Holmes. Everything that is locked under digital key gets unlocked by Sherlock in less than twenty minutes. He would often state that "there is no such thing as complete random passwords". This was actually true. If I went with near random, I would most likely lock myself out as well as flatmate. Passwords needed to be something that you can remember over time and invariably will include letters that form real words and numbers that form real dates. Its this connection between password and reality that Sherlock often exploits. Within less than a day of my formally moving my items into 221B, Sherlock already knew how to access my phone, my laptop and I suspected that he knew the pin number to my bank card as well, although we've never been in a situation where he's able to test that. Normally, for the sake of showing off, he would just rattle your password out loud, rendering it useless immediately because he would be within ear shot of at least five other people. With me, he was more courteous. He didn't rattle out my password, nor did he hack into my accounts. At least, not straight away. However, on a Thursday afternoon, not three weeks from when I first moved into Baker Street, I got an unexpected call.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Who's this?" The voice was confused yet very familiar.

"John. John Watson. Who are you?" I asked him.

"Oh yes, you're that chap who works with Sherlock." He sounded relieved.

"Wait, I still don't know who you are." I reminded him.

"This is Inspector Gregory Lestrade from Scotland Yard." He introduced himself. "We've met."

"Yes, er... why have you called me? Is something wrong?" I asked him, not knowing to what I was to owe his call.

"So you didn't send the text then?" He said.

"What text?" I tried to recall whether I had texted anyone by accident. It has happened before when I forgot to lock my phone and it started sending texts to people as it jingled in my pocket. Although as I don't recall ever asking for the inspector's number (at least not his personal mobile number), I doubted I could have ever texted him by accident even if I tried.

"Figured that." He muttered to himself.

"Figured what? Who sent you a text?" I asked, getting more confused.

"Sherlock did. He must have used your phone. Kind of him to remember though; he didn't need to be all that anonymous about it." Lestrade was saying.

"He texted you from this number?" I replied, flabbergast.

"It was nuffing rude or anyfingk. Actually it was quite nice. I went on facebook today, for the first time in three months. Only my nephew left a birthday message for me. No one bothers to leave messages for me anymore." The detective was saying.

"It's your birthday today?" I asked. I guess I should have just said 'Happy Birthday' but I was still recovering from the possibility that Sherlock had just casually texted someone else from my phone.

"Yes it is. I mean it was. Not much of the day left anymore. Hey, gotta go. Got more paperwork to finish off. Nice talking to you." With that Inspector Lestrade hung up.

I flicked through my outbox and found two things. First, Lestrade's number was already stored on my contacts list (I didn't put it there); Second, I found the offending text message: Happy Birthday Greg. It was a simple enough message. I wasn't sure why Sherlock couldn't just send it from his own phone.

What would you have done at that point? Would you have confronted him? What would you have said to him?

When I got home that night, Sherlock was engaged in one of his "experiments". Something about the way that he focused himself completely on his microscope, had "Do Not Disturb" written all over it. For the time being, I didn't question him about sending unsolicited text from my phone.


End file.
